


Spread Thin

by Mistamang



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly hurt, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28450131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistamang/pseuds/Mistamang
Summary: FE13 has been dead in the ground for well over 8 years, perfect time to write an in depth character analysis on two very minor Firm Emblem characters
Relationships: Brady/Eudes | Owain
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to be as grammatically correct as possible but this was not proofread.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Povs: Gerome, Owain, the Shepherds.

Risen were constant and unforgiving creatures. It didn't matter to them how far you ran, they were always lurking not far behind you. There was no rest for the dead and unfortunately that meant there was no rest for the Shepherds of Ylisse either.

Tonight a team of risen archers hid behind trees and overgrowth from afar, over watching the camp, waiting on their next move, along with many more risen soldiers hiding close behind, surrounding most of the camp in the shadows. Remarkably quiet.

During the pitch black of night, with nothing but the dying campfire light to guide him, it was impossible for Gerome to see the risen from where he was. The mask he stubbornly refused to remove was no help on the matter either. This usually wasn't an issue to him. You could always hear a risen before you could see it, so gerome kept an ear out instead, as he usually did on night watch duty.

He sat beside Minerva, petting her head as she snored contentedly. He tried to fight the sleep from his eyes as he stared up at the sky, focusing on the stars that watched over him from above.

He wondered if his mother was up there, another speck of light sitting comfortably among billions of others, he hoped so, though hope felt foolish to him nowadays, he thought that if his mother should be anywhere in death, it should be up in the sky, where she felt most at home in life.

He heard a noise. The familiar sound of a volley of arrows being launched. He jumped, stumbling to his feet, obscured eyes going wide.

He grabbed his axe beside Minerva who had been startled awake from his commotion and he shouted out towards the rest of the camp that they were under attack before climbing Minerva and leading her towards where the arrows had launched.

-

Owain woke with a start as a sudden violent, piercing pain sent shock waves through his whole body, eyes clenched shut he screamed at the sudden pain. Still extremely disoriented from his abrupt awakening, He slowly reached his left hand along his upper chest, searching for where the pain was most prominent and winced once his prodding fingers reached the thin wooden shaft of an arrow still lodged in his flesh.

Groaning, he finally had enough strength in him to open his eyes, noting at first, the hole left in his tent, letting the moon's light seep in, then he noted the blood slowly spilling from the clogged up hole in his upper chest that had barely missed his collarbone.

Owain put a hand to the wound, instincts telling him to staunch his bleeding despite the arrow already doing a good job of it for the moment. He sat up from his bed roll with a grimace on his face, reaching for his sword with his other hand, letting out another pained grunt as he moved towards the opening of his tent.

A moment later he heard Gerome calling out that they were under attack.

"Gah… no kidding." Owain groaned, stumbling outside, not bothering to get his myrimidon's uniform on while there was an arrow sticking out of him. His bloodied undershirt would do for now.

He got in a defensive position as he assessed his surroundings. A small voice in the back of his head was screaming from the pain of his wound as every flex of muscle, every twitch of his sword hand caused the sharp arrow head to scratch and poke at his insides.

He has dealt with arrow wounds before though, and he will no doubt, deal with them again, such was war. He could deal with this. He'll just have to overcome the burning pain in the meantime, there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

More of the enemy was emerging from the trees around the camp, there were a lot of them, sure, but it wasn't anything the shepherds hadn't dealt with before. Piece of cake.

Owain ran to the aid of Cynthia who hadn't had time to get on her pegasus and was forced to fight on the ground.

"Owain!" She called out, noticing him fall in next to her before the risen quickly gained back her attention.

She took another quick glance in Owain's direction, eyebrows furrowed. "There's an arrow stuck in your shoulder." She said to him, matter of factly, while simultaneously blocking a blow from the axe wielding risen in front of her.

Owain raised his hand to his face, wincing as he did. "Very perceptive, my sweetest, insightful companion, I have been pierced through by Shinon's wrathful blow, a bolt born from the heavens, sent down to silence my vengeful cries and still my ancient dragon's blood. but fear not my friend, for I am no mere mortal such as yourself, like that of a Phoenix, I-" Owain was cut off by yet another arrow, slicing off the skin near his ribs, deflecting off bone.

"AAGH!" Owain cried out, losing his balance for a moment and dropping to one knee and quickly moving his hand from his face to where he was hit.

Gods, was it fatal? Was he dead? No... no it was just a scratch, no problem, he'd handle a scratch.

"Owain?!" Cynthia cried out from in front of him, turning her head toward his pained cry to check if he was alright but the risen in front of her quickly averted her attention with a lunge forward. She dodged the blow and left the risen disoriented from the force of its swing meeting air. She took that moment to spear straight through its head with her lance, then quickly pulling it back out and striking again at the risen's throat, finally killing the risen with her double blow.

Owain managed to stand back up, trying his best to staunch the blood of his new open wound with already bloodied fingers. "I'm- I'm well, it's nothing serious, just hurts." Owain explained, dropping his act for a moment in all the comotion.

"Hah, well you kind of deserved that with all that talking you were doing. You need to go find Brady before you get hurt again, we can't afford to lose you, alright?" Owain nodded briskly at Cynthias far too light hearted tone for such a topic, before watching her bolt towards the archer that hit him from a distance.

Owain had been putting off seeing Brady, he hadn't wanted to admit to himself that his wounds were worth wasting medical supplies on. He knew how low their supplies were getting these past weeks, Brady was on his last heal staff and what's left of their vulneraries and concoctions was used sparingly, only taken out for the most fatal wounds. Finding villages that weren't completely abandoned or ransacked by risen and brigands had become harder and harder these past months. There was little they could do about their lack of supplies for the moment.

But he knew he needed help, the pain he was in could no longer be ignored, he'd be useless if he tried fighting now. He turned towards the center of camp, searching for Brady with nothing but the glow of the moon and the burning embers of the campfire to aid him.

Owain started at the sight of risen already making it to the center of camp, how had they gotten such an advantage? They were just a hoard of risen, but their formation, something had changed, they seemed almost organized in their attack. this wasn't good. He shouldn't have been so careless while with Cynthia, he was needed.

Damned idiot, _f_ _ocus!_

Owain snapped out of his thoughts as a pair of glowing red eyes came at him from the right, he managed to block the swing of the risen's sword by a margin, using all his strength in both arms to perry the weapon with his long sword. His upper chest and side burned like nothing else. He let out a noise from deep in his throat as he finally managed to push back his foe far enough for him to catch a breath.

_Damn._

The warm blood from his wounds were soaking his shirt and pants, he must look utterly sickening, he needed to find Brady. He couldn't afford to be a burden on the rest of his friends right now.

The sword wielding risen came in for a second blow and Owain tried to jump out of the way of the swing but wasn't fast enough as the sword caught and sliced at his stomach, tearing his already ruined shirt and leaving a long gash across Owain's lower abdomen, he was losing a fatal amount of blood very quickly.

He gasped, knees buckling. The pain it left him in was blinding, his head spun from the shock of it.

He needed to run. He needed-

A second risen closed in on him, hitting him square in his chest with a blast of Arcwind.

Owain cried out, caught off guard as he flew backwards, letting go of his sword as he landed on one of the shepherd's tents, thoroughly destroying it, hitting his head on the ground below, hard enough to make everything around him spin and his ears ring.

His ribs ached from the blast directly to his chest and his back felt raw from how far he'd skidded across the ground. Owain clenched his eyes shut, trying to stop the world from spinning and willed the hot tears pricking his eyes to go away.

The risen, they were so well coordinated. How had Owain grown so _sloppy?_

The sword wielding risen from before had reached Owain, bending down and grabbing him by his neck.

Owain could smell the sickly rotten stench of dead flesh that all risen reeked of, suffocating him further. He had never managed to get used to that smell, no matter how many he killed. Owain managed to open his eyes, the instinctual panic from being strangled finally forced Owain's brain to focus on something other than the pain of his wounds.

Immediately he was transfixed by the red glow of the risen's emotionless stare. He couldn't look away, couldn't keep the terror out of his face as his brain fuzzed from the fall and the lack of air in his lungs.

'Gods... I'm dead, I'm dead... This is finally it.' He couldn't breath, everything hurt, he forced his eyes shut, finally managing to look away from those awful burning red eyes. He let out a short prayer but it came out as nothing but a strangled, high pitched whimper.

Owain heard the dull crunch of metal hitting flesh and he began to sob, sure it was the last thing he'd ever hear. A moment later he dropped back down onto the broken tent below him, he didn't have time to react, as immediately after, the heavy body of the risen that had his throat a second earlier, now fell on top of him, narrowly missing the arrow still lodged in Owain as it landed.

Being pounded in his already broken chest with the weight of an armored body after Owain had almost been choked within an inch of his life certainly didn't help his situation at all. He desperately rasped for a breath that refused to come.

His head was swimming further towards unconsciousness, he no longer had the energy to writhe under the large body. The stars behind his eyelids and the ringing in his ears overtook all his other senses. "Owain!" That was Inigo's voice, he was sure of it, but he sounded obscured and distant, as if Owain's head was under water.

The weight of the risen lifted and Owain was left bare, feeling far too light and floaty now that he had no weight to ground him. his head spun more violently, and he felt his blood pulse throughout his entire body. He heard Inigo speaking again, but he couldn't hear a word he was saying over how loud his heartbeat was. He didn't really care to listen anyways, he was growing far too tired to care.

Finally he felt himself get lifted onto his side. He heaves and vomits up blood, followed by the first real breath he had taken in what must've been minutes, causing his entire body to burn like it was buried in hot coals

All the pain and ache flooded back along with his consciousness as he finally started taking short wheezing breaths in and out. This was worse, this was much worse. He couldn't even scream, he had been robbed a peaceful death and now he was going to die in agony. Oh gods…

"Owain, look at me. I need you to look at me." Owain tried to open his eyes, but as he did, all he could see was a violent and nauseating blur. He clenched his eyes shut again, the vertigo proving too much for his senses. his breath felt short and erratic, making the pulse in his head feel like a mallet against his forehead.

"Brady, I- I tried to get to him sooner, but the risen-" the voice sounded frantic, terrified. Owain paid it little mind, he was too focused on the hurt. He coughed again.

"Shit- Inigo, I'm gonna need those vulneraries and my heal staff from the medical tent, now!" There was immediate motion as soon as Brady snapped at Inigo.

Owain felt a cold hand touch his face "C'mon, 'wain. Stay with me. A little internal bleedin' never killed nobody. You're fine. You ain't done yet." Owain wanted to smile on instinct, as he often did when he heard that voice, but all he could offer was a quiet gasp.

He felt his shirt being torn further open followed by the familiar tingling of a vulnerary being poured on his stomach and chest, numbing his open wounds. It was a small relief, completely incomparable to the pain he felt internally.

"A'ight 'wain, this's gonna hurt like hell but it's for ya own good. I can't heal ya 'till I get that arrow head outta there." Before Owain even had time to process what Brady had said, he was crying out in pain, writhing on the ground as Brady cut at the wound from the arrow with his dagger, opening it wide enough to remove the arrowhead with his fingers with as little pulling and laceration of the muscle tissue from the arrows barbs as possible.

"Someone c'mere and put pressure on his wounds before he bleeds out all over me, damn it!" Owain continued to scream as he felt more hands touching him. "You aint dying on me you damned stinkin' idiot, you ain't gonna die!" Too much, it was too much. He wished he had died. He couldn't breathe, he-.

-

Owain stirred, swimming between blissful dreaming and painful reality.

He didn't want to be awake. If he was awake, the pain in his stomach, the burning in his chest and the ache of his bones would all be real.

He heard noise coming from close beside him, he couldn't make out the words, but he knew the voice well. He grimaced as he tried to turn his head.

Brady was muttering to himself, a habit he claimed he'd picked up from his mother. He sounded exhausted. It hurt to listen to, more than it hurt to breathe with a batted chest. He couldn't let it continue.

Forced awake by the grumblings of a miserable git, right back into reality's cruel and unforgiving arms. He'd damn Brady for it afterwards.

Owain tried opening his eyes but had a hard time focusing on one thing, everything blurred into a mix of light and color. He did however finally catch the attention of his friend, who had quickly gotten up from his seat on the floor beside him and kneeled over Owain.

"Owain! Hah! Yer awake, ah gods, I'm-... Ah, I- I have t'go tell the others." There was almost a frantic excitement beneath all that heavy exhaustion in his voice, he'd rarely heard the man in such a state.

A quiet hum was all Owain could manage in response, still trying to blink the thick blur out of his eyes. Focusing on the shapes of Brady's face until his eyes would cooperated.

Brady looked terrible. Disorderly, almost ghostly in appearance, well, more so than usual anyways, but the happiness on his face at seeing Owain awake, shone through like early morning rays through a night's storm.

Owain couldn't help but offer a dopey, lopsided grin in return. "mhh…" He tried to speak again, "you... look like sshhit..." he whispered. It hurt to talk and he partially regretted it, but Brady's expression was well worth the effort.

"Haha!" Brady laughed a little too loud for it to be real. "Comin' from the guy who's s'posed to be dead!" Brady made a gesture like he wanted to pound Owain on the head with his clenched fist, but faltered quickly.

"stop yappin'. Yer gonna undo all my hard work, dumbass." He mumbled out the last of his insult, void of any actual bite. He could see that Brady had been crying, it wasn't unusual, especially when his friends were hurt but that didn't make Owain feel any better about it.

Brady looked away, out at the opening of the medical tent, taking the opportunity to wipe at his running nose with his sleeve. He had grown misty eyed all over again. "I need to go let the others know you're doin' right… you've been out for two days and-"

Two days?!

Gods, no, that couldn't be right. With how constant the risen attacks were becoming and how low their supplies already are, they couldn't afford anything slowing them down. Why had they let him rest for two full days? Why hadn't they woken him? They had to keep moving!

Owain tried to lift himself off the futon, he had to help, he had to do something, he-

"Hey! Nah-ah, none a' that! you lay that thick head a' your's right back down on that pillow before I give ya some real injuries to cry about!" Owain thought to let the fact that Brady was currently the one crying, go unsaid.

As much as Owain would've liked to continue getting up despite Brady's empty threats, he physically couldn't. The pain flared up all at once. He clenched his eyes shut, letting out a pitiful noise as he slowly lowered himself back down.

He felt a cool damp towel being placed on his forehead. It felt good on his sweaty skin. Face still contorted from pain and annoyance, he opened his eyes to meet Brady's.

"Owain, c'mon. quit lookin' at me like that…" Brady put a hand to his own forehead, rubbing the creases that now took permanent residence on Brady's face after so many years of scowling.

Brady slowly combed his hand through his mess of hair, turning to look back towards the medical tent's opening again, and away from Owain's concerned gaze.

Brady clearly didn't want to talk about the state of the camp right now. "You know we ain't goin' anywhere without you. Leave the worryin' to the others for now. What's important 's that you're alright."

Owain creased his brows further. What he'd said was sweet, but it was also incredibly stupid. They needed to find a village, anything, before their supplies ran dry. They only had enough food to ration out for another week if they were lucky, and Owain no doubt, drained Brady of most of the medical supplies he had left after his stupid little stunt. Their situation was bad. Worse than bad.

Gods, He was such an idiot. He could fain importance through his theatrics all he wanted but actions spoke louder than words and his actions had said more than enough.

He had become a liability and the shepherds had made the mistake of helping him and letting him rest regardless. Damn, damn him.

Brady looked at Owain, clearly struggling to read what Owain was thinking, but worried nonetheless. "Get some more rest Owain, can't do much else right now anyways, you ain't nearly healed enough. I had to save what lousy supplies I got left, just in case. Ya should be okay, though. I'll be checkin' in on you every hour or so to make sure you ain't died on me or somethin', a'ight?" Brady smiled at him again, the gesture didn't reach his exhausted eyes. Owain felt useless, unable to do anything to comfort his friend.

He reached a weak hand towards Brady's, right as Brady went to stand from his place beside Owain.

Brady stopped as he felt the hand on his, and looked up at Owain. He wanted to thank him, to apologize, tell him not to worry and go rest, he wanted to say anything, but his voice croaked as he tried to form a word. His body disagreed with him and coughing fit started when he tried again. Tears pricking his eyes as it caused his unhealed chest to heave.

Owain didn't notice Brady squeezing his hand while Owain had been coughing. "Ya had a lot of blood in your lounges, pierced 'em with a shattered rib." Owain had stopped coughing, but his face still contorted in pain.

"I ain't some miracle worker, 'Wain. I ain't even a good healer, but I'm all you have, so you gotta listen to me when I tell you not to move!"

Owain finally calmed down enough to open his eyes again but looked away just as quickly, Brady was practically balling his eyes out now. It was all too much.

His nose and eyes were running like faucets, Brady had never been the prettiest crier. It broke Owain, no matter how many times he saw it happen.

Brady rubbed his face against his now dirty sleeve, despite the handkerchief Owain knew that Brady owned, Owain had given it to him, after all. "s-sorry… I just, I know I ain't ever gonna be as good as ma, she should be doin' this not me." Brady sniffed.

"I can't keep watchin' you idiots go out and kill yourselves. Things ain't easy like they were" he moved his other hand away from Owain's to rub at his already raw eyes.

Things had never been easy, that's the kicker to all of this. They'd all grown up with this war, they'd watched their homes burn, their family die one at a time. They fought to keep up, to do anything by means of helping, but they were children, they still are children.

"M'sorry 'wain. Don't listen to me, I ain't been sleepin' well s'all." Brady finally stood up, leaving Owain feeling powerless.

"Get some rest." Brady said before reaching the entrance of the tent. Owain gave a quick nod in response, giving up on his attempts to comfort Brady, knowing there wasn't anything he could do, and in truth, his one sided conversation with Brady had left him thoroughly overwhelmed.

Rest, he could do that.

-

"It's true, in the past, risen could be controlled and commanded by humans who served Grima, but they're all dead as far as we know. We haven't seen them since the fall of Ylisse." Lucina explained, looking perplexed.

"Grima is far too careless to conserve living troops. We haven't seen a mortal serve under Grima for longer than a few moons, if luck aids them. A servant to Grima with enough skill to control a small army of risen would be unthinkable. Life is so few and far between as is." Laurent piped in, seconding Lucina's point.

"But we haven't seen the risen fight like they did that night in years, what other possibility could there be?" Nah asked

"Ugh! I'm sick of waiting, we need to act fast. We can't keep stalling, there is no other option. We need to find out who is controlling the risen and stop them before things get even uglier! I feel like I'm the only person taking this seriously!" Severa said, frustrated by this constant arguing.

"Severa, that is truly the last thing we should be doing as of now. our healing supplies are basically none, thanks to Owain. If we were to march into a fight without knowing the extent of the enemy's strength with no back up plan or support, we'd might as well walk right up to Grima's front door step and ask politely for a cup of sugar. I'm not about to get myself killed and ruin my mother's legacy by listening to you." Inigo snapped back

"Uh, I second Inigo." Yarne said raising a hand

"Nobody asked you, craven! Go find a hole to hide in." Severa barked, Yarne ducked his head into his shoulders, trying to appear smaller despite his hulking size.

"That's enough, we're not getting anywhere with petty bickering. Laurent, may I have the map, please?" Lucina turned to Laurent and he smoothly selected and pulled out one of the dozens of scrolls from his satchel.

"Thank you." She laid the map out on the makeshift table in front of her that they had set up for the meeting. She pointed at the approximate area of where they were currently staying. "we aren't more than half a day away from the closest village on this map, food and medical supplies are our number one priority. No matter what Grima has planned for us, we cannot continue without supplies." Inigo gave a wry smile in Severa's direction at Lucina's words.

"Uhh, yeah. Just one problem, princess… Last four villages we visited were all abandoned and robbed of supplies. Encase you forgot, we're not the only ones dying out here!" Severa waved an exasperated hand as she spoke.

"It is a risk, especially since Owain still hasn't woken up..." Cynthia pitched in.

"He's as good as dead, Brady was foolish for wasting so much of his supplies on him. We can't afford dead weight on our shoulders." Kjelle, sighed.

"How could you say that?! Owain is-" Cynthia was cut off by Brady's voice as he jogged his way towards the circle.

"Owain's awake! He's-" he puffed, out of breath from his insignificant jog. "He's alright!" Brady hunched further, putting his hands on his knees to hold himself up. He couldn't tell if he was out of breath from exertion or from the rush of relief he felt after a harrowing 2 days, most likely the former, he was horribly out of shape.

Everyone looked at Brady, wide eyed, leaning in and waiting for more news but when none came, Noire prompted the man.

"I-is it okay to see him?" She asked,

"He needs more rest, he's still in a lott'a pain, if I had the supplies to heal him a li'l more I'd say yes but… best wait 'till tomorrow, his body'll heal quickly with most of the fatal injuries taken care of."

"Thank you Brady, you've been extraordinarily helpful, to us." Lucina smiled at Brady, he in return bowed a little, an old habit drilled into him by his mother "Ain't nothin' to thank me for." He said quietly, almost solemn in his tone despite his informal speech.

Everyone seemed to relax their shoulders a little, as they turned back towards the circle, now with Brady joining them. Owain was alive, that was one less thing they had to worry about.

"Now, I agree that our chances are growing slim, but we really have no other choice. We're already heading north, towards Ferox our best chance of survival is to make shelter in the village as soon as possible. If the village is abandoned, it will at least provide us with stone walls to protect us, and wood to burn." Lucina looked at her friends, waiting for criticism.

"What about Owain?" Brady broke the silence. "What if he's not well enough to walk from here to the village?" Heads turned back and forth looking at each other for answers.

"we could split up, send a few of us out to get supplies and news of the village and return as soon as possible." Cynthia pitched in, more as a question than an affirmative answer to their problem.

"No… no, that leaves us vulnerable, we can't risk being apart while tensions are high." Lusina rebuked. "We have no choice but to move slowly. We'll span the walk from here to the village over a few days."

Nah looked as if she was on the verge of panic, they all did. Food rations were stretched horribly thin as is. It was too difficult to try and grow anything with the grain and potatoes they had left while on the move, and it was near impossible with the earth being so hard and dry from these late autumn droughts. Hunting was also especially hard when most living things were teetering on extinction. You simply weren't supposed to survive out here. Not anymore.

"Are you serious!?" Severa look like she was ready to blow. "All this for one man? How is he any different than the hundreds of thousands of people who needed the same medical treatment he did but were forgotten and left to die, turned to risen." Severa was speaking too quickly, her face turning as red as her hair. "He was an idiot, he got himself in that mess and I'll be damned before he drags me down with him!" Severa shook as she lashed out.

"Like I said before, we've wasted too much of our supplies on him, we can't afford to lose more." Kjelle backed Severa, putting a hand on her shoulder in what was supposed to be reassuring.

"Hey! I ain't leavin' no friend of mine to bleed out on the dirt. How many times has Owain saved your skin, while risking his own, huh? And you ain't feel a lick of responsibility for his well being?" Brady spat on the ground in front of them. "You ain't no real Shepherds." Severa and kjelle both looked mortified. Kjelle reached for her spear that lay against the tent next to her, ready to fight for her title.

"Enough!" Lucina yelled, her authoritative tone being put to use before there was an all out brawl and she was down a cleric too. "I will not hear you tarnishing the name of my cousin without him present. Tensions are high. Take the rest of the day to consider what I've said. I'll call another meeting again tonight once we've mulled it over. I don't want to see any infighting in my camp."

The Shepherds dispersed, off to work on their own individual duties around the camp. Energy was demonstrably low.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Povs: Owain
> 
> This chapter is short, sorry. I removed the last part in the first chapter between Owain and Brady, because it felt far too rushed. This chapter mostly exists as a place to put the fixed scene. Same story beats, some similar dialogue, just written a bit different.

Owain dreamt of his mother. 

He felt as if the sun washed over her, even in the shade. She just seemed to glow. He remembered the way her toothy smile fit on her face, improper and uncaring, with keen eyes and a wit which nobody could out maneuver. She was beautiful.

He dreamt of the days and nights she'd read to him. Stories of brave knights, of sorcery and witchcraft, children who braved dark forests and deep caves, confronting terrors few had lived to see.

The castle library was well stocked, and her reading pile was never empty.

He remembered making her read the ones he liked the most, over and over. He'd mouth the familiar words as she spoke.

He saw the futures of each character, he knew the pains they felt in the face of unknowing, and knew he could lead the way out for all of them. He found safety in knowing exactly how things would end.

Owain dreamt of his home burning, of eyes as red as the hot coals it left behind, clouding the sky as they watched him run.

Like the characters in his books, he felt that same fear of unknowing, that lack of control, but those eyes knew the end of his story just as easily.

Odious and profound, consumed by it's conquest for more. Owain's life was less meaningful to this creature than the ash that clouded the sky.

Owain had gone mute shortly after.

He dreamt of the stories his mother would tell him. His books had all burned, but she remembered them as well as he did, yet they brought no comfort to him anymore.

He spoke again, only five weeks after the fall of Ylisse. He had begun writing his own stories. At nine years old, he felt he was too old for the ones his mother recited to him, so he had made her new ones, and he'd read them to her, instead.

His mother, once princess of Ylisse, now refugee seeking asylum, would only listen with half an ear.

-

Owain awoke.

The morning light seeping through his eyelids Had stirred him and he opened his eyes to the annoyance.

The fabric opening of the medical tent had been pushed aside by a figure.

Lanky and awkward, with hair in a coordinated mess, Brady always left an unmistakable silhouette when facing away from the sun's light.

"Was 'boutta wake ya." He moved further into the tent, where Owain could see his face better.

"Here, s'been a while since you've eaten."  
Brady shoved a bowl of something in front of Owain's face.

"M'fine, Brady. Thank you."

"Like hell you are. Take the damn bowl before I tip it all on ya sorry head."

Owain frowned. He tried to reach for the bowl before remembering his arm was in a sling. The arrow that hit his shoulder was one of the less lethal wounds that Owain had collected that day so Brady had focused his healing on the more serious injuries while deciding to let Owain's shoulder heal on its own, at least until they found more supplies.

Owain was so accustomed to healing magic, that it had been a while since he'd dealt with the repercussions of being careless. He'd deserved this wake up call.

He reached for the bowl with his free hand and peered down at the unappetizing mush inside. The portions were pitifully small but Owain found it hard to complain when the food was hardly edible to begin with. No flavor, no color, just starch.

"Thanks." His words lacked any of their usual vibrato.

Brady grunted in response and picked up his own bowl. Watching with quiet amusement as Owain struggled to figure out how to eat with one hand while lying down, unable to use his front as a makeshift table when it was still bandaged and sore.

"You slept in. Lucina wants us marchin' north in a few hours." Brady's voice was soft, a careful air and tone he gave Owain while he adjusted his position on the futon so he sat slightly more upright, then plucked Owain's bowl from his fingers, laying it next to him on the ground so he could reach for it with his free hand.

Brady was nothing like his mother, but moments like these reminded Owain of when they were children, and Brady's mother would chide them as she'd clean and straighten their dirty clothes after a game of knights and dragons in the dirt.

Both were so precise in their movements when it came to the little things.

"Good." Owain responded as he went to shovel a spoonful of mush into his mouth.

"You ain't exactly ready to get up and start walking again, 'wain." Brady huffed.

Owain snorted, "no mere scratch of a blade will bound my aching blood to such mortal toils. I follow the whims of-"

"'Wain." Brady whined, sounding more like a pained plea than a command to stop, like he'd been silently hoping Owain wouldn't start up like this and wasn't ready to deal with it now that he had.

Owain shrunk into his pillow a little for not noticing Brady's impatience sooner.

Brady sighed, holding his tongue from saying anything that might actually hurt. He was good at keeping jabs indirect, unlike others in camp. "You're gonna hurt yourself if ya keep talkin' nonsense."

Owain looked at Brady, confidence returning for a moment. "My chest feels a lot better, actually. It's been healing well."

It was true, Brady had done wonders on his chest with what little he had. Brady could deny his capability all he wanted but this was proof of his skill.

"Ain't talkin' 'bout your chest." Brady said, voice low. "People in camp are angry, 'Wain. They got less patience than I have. You're a nerve 'mong the camp right now."

A nerve among camp.

Owain scrunched his brow, turning away from Brady to stare down at the old metal spoon that lay in his freehand.

"Everyone's been on edge since the attack. Somethin strange happened that night, 'wain. We ain't figured it out yet."

Owain continued to stare at his spoon. It was too foggy to reflect much light off it's surface, and chipped a little on it's handle. He gripped the spoon a little tighter but didn't move any closer to his bowl.

People were on edge. They were angry with him, that made sense. They should be angry, so was he, he'd doomed all of them, _gods._ they were all dead and he had killed them.

Brady watched Owain have a staring contest with the spoon and sighed again, dropping his head a little and rubbing his face with his palm. "Don't think too hard. Y'gonna forget how to eat."

Owain thought, regardless, but made a point to scoop up another portion of his meal.

"Cynthia says she's willing to let you ride her pegasus 'till you're fit to walk again." Owain listened to Brady's attempt to change the subject with half an ear.

"I don't think she realizes ridin's gonna hurt just as bad as walkin'." Brady snorted. "But it'll keep ya outta trouble."

Owain took another bite of his meal.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like I said in the summary, this chapter mostly exists to fix my mistake in the first chapter. Back on track with longer chapters after this, Thanks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Povs: Brady, Gerome, Noire.
> 
> Brady washes the dishes, Gerome sharpens his axe, and Noire uses brute strength.

Brady was on cleaning duty before everyone got ready to leave. Hunched over a basin of water left outside, scrubbing at bowls and spoons left from breakfast.

He liked the work. was simple. Kept his hands busy. His ma would've called it beneath him, once, tasks best left for serving maids and the like, but proprietary and desperation never seemed a good mix, and societal collapse had really thrown a spanner in the whole works.

So, Brady did the dishes.

It hadn't rained in weeks. Autumn hadn't been kind to anyone, so they'd have to use the same basin of water for sponge baths later. He felt the scowl on his ma's face at that, but there wasn't any use complaining about dirt, when forced to live in it. He'd just hope for a well or river close by the nearest village, at least, one that hopefully hadn't dried out yet.

He couldn't help his thoughts from drifting towards the memory of a good bath. Hard to not miss a proper tub of clean water, alone, with four walls around you.

He could still remember the odd feeling the expensive soaps left on his skin afterwards, and those smelly oils his ma liked.

Brady sighed, grabbing another bowl as he set the one before it aside.

He remembered such stupid, mundane things from his life as a child. Who cared about stuff like smelly oils, or fresh bread and jam in the morning, or the feeling of clean socks?

He felt foolish for holding on so tightly to nostalgia, but it was so easy to let his thoughts take him deeper, as he cleaned. 

Vivid memories of times spent in the garden with Owain as a child, like the time Owain had picked up a particularly fat caterpillar, while they'd been treasure hunting, and the rash it left on his hand afterwards, or when Owain made him look for weeds and wildflowers to mix in with their _wizards potions_ ; bowls full of pond water, grass, and dirt, mixed together with a branch they'd snapped off the old Linden tree that stood at the center of the garden.

Owain took up so much of his early memory, being the only kid his age that his ma had let him play with.

Their estate had been crumbling long before Ylisse's fall. Back then, she'd tried so hard to keep her house's legacy and dignity intact, and her relations with the Ylisse royalty strong. All through him. For all the good that'd done…

"Are you trying to clean the bowl, or kill it?"

Brady jumped at the voice intruding on his thoughts, looking over his shoulder to see Severa, watching him work.

He turned back towards the bowl he'd been scrubbing raw. "Damn it." He attempted to rub at his forehead with the back of his wrist, avoiding his wet hands. "Whaddya want." He put the bowl aside.

"I can't just come see if you're doing your job? Believe it or not, I actually _care_ about my hygiene, unlike some of you pigs." She didn't sound very serious. Was she playing him again? Trying to get something out of him, without outright asking? He wished she was easier to read, but she treated talking like it was a game. He was never good at this sort of thing.

Brady and Severa got along better than most, but since yesterday... Surely Severa was smarter than to just act like it never happened.

Brady couldn't help his anger from bubbling just beneath his skin at the memory of what she'd said last night, and the uncaring grin she gave him now.

That smirks always felt so poisonous. _Kinda like that caterpillar Owain touched,_ Brady thought. _Probably get a rash if I touched her face just the same..._ He snorted to himself, taking the final bowl from the dirty pile.

"Something funny?" She sniffed, thinking his snort was in response to her comment on her hygiene.

"Nah." He kept anything he could've said, to himself, not wanting Severa twisting his words.

"Are you ignoring me? It's rude not to face a lady when she's talking to you, y'know!" She flicked the back of his neck.

"Ack!" He spun around to face her, wet hand moving to rub at sore skin. "What?! Whaddya want?! I know this aint about dishes. I ain't gonna pack your tent for ya, or carry your stuff 'round, or whatever, so you can forget it!" He snapped, all intentions of staying quiet gone out the window the second she'd flicked him.

"Wow, touchy…" Getting a negative response out of Brady, only seemed to make her grin further. "You can barely lift your own head off your shoulders, what makes you think I'd come crying to you to do any actual work?"

Brady clenched his jaw, turning away from her again, hunching down further at her words, and gripping the sides of the wash basin with boney knuckles. He was never very good with eye contact, and moments like these only made him worse. She was so good at turning what he says into whatever she wanted it to be. He wasn't half as good at this as she was.

He should've started drying and packing the dishes away, but he found that he couldn't stand being around her anymore, so he made to leave.

"Wait! Brady, I'm sorry, that was mean, I wasn't trying to-" he walked faster. "ugh! Just wait a second! listen!"

"I only came to ask how Owain was doing!" She tugged at the sleeve of his robe and he finally turned, furious at her now, for finally mentioning Owain.

"Last I checked, you were ready to leave'm dead! What makes ya think you can pretend t'care after everythin' y'said?!" He straightened his back enough that he towered over her, more than usual, clenching and unclenching his fist.

She shoved him backwards. "Of course I care, but if you had half a brain, you'd be just as worried as I am! For Naga's sake, Brady, we're dying out here!" She threw her hands in the air for emphasis. "This stunt you've pulled, by saving Owain, has cost us all our lives! I'm sorry I was upset yesterday, we all were, but I'm _not_ sorry for what I said!" She poked an accusatory finger at Brady's chest as she spoke.

Brady was far too angry to look for the words to say, and he probably wouldn't have found them anyway. He hated explaining himself, and he _hated_ confrontation.

So, he was left looking like a fool once again, like always.

He was so sick of everyone relying on words for everything! Why couldn't they just understand! He felt like a child again, being reprimanded by his ma, for things he couldn't understand.

"Brady, come on…" she lowered her voice. Brady didn't know when he'd started crying, but he really shouldn't have been surprised. "Look, just…" Severa sighed, looking away. She wasn't good with comforting people. Both their flaws, now easily on display for one another.

"I know you can't see it, but I do care. I… _care_ about Owain. I care about all of us."

Brady wiped his nose on his sleeve. He hated how easily he got overwhelmed. Why hadn't he grown up yet? _Idiot._ Damned _idiot. Such a waste a' time. Was a curse that the Shepherds kept ya alive this long._

"Difficult times mean we need to make difficult decisions, Brady. Owain was saved this time, but what happens next time, and the time after that? What happens when we run out of medical supplies, or food?"

Brady couldn't handle this any longer. He didn't have answers for her. He didn't know anything. _Useless._ He felt his ma's eyes watching him, judging him. Whatever Severa wanted from Brady, he wished she'd just take it and go. _Ain't nothin' to take. Ain't even worth shit. Not to ma, not to nobody._

He tried to leave again, looking like a kicked mutt. Severa let him go this time.

-

Gerome sharpened his axe with a well practiced hand. He'd packed his tent and belongings long before anyone else had, and was left with too much free time.

Like always, he kept his distance from the camp, out by the stump of a freshly chopped tree they'd use for tonight's firewood.

Keeping his posture firm as it always was, stubborn, undeterred, and under control, he held himself with the same firm brace as he held the piece of whetstone against his axe. His face however, - hidden securely with his mask, - creased with fear and fatigue.

He was mostly feigning assuredness for Minerva's sake. Wyverns tended to sense a person's mood based on body language, and could just as easily reflect it onto themselves. An unnerved Wyvern could be exceptionally dangerous.

Not that Gerome didn't trust Minerva, - Gods knew, he trusted her better than anyone in the entire camp - but he didn't want her worrying.

He'd failed to spot the risen that stormed the camp. How? How had he missed them? How had they gotten so close?

He'd slept fitfully for most of his life, but since that night, he'd barely slept at all. He just couldn't. He couldn't let it happen again.

It'd been three days now, and they were coming. He could smell their rotting stench in the air. He wouldn't fail this time. This time, he'd be ready for what they'd bring.

He sharpened his axe a final time, before climbing minerva to scout the skies.

-

Noire rubbed nervously at her forearms as she walked towards the medical tent. She hadn't seen Owain since that night, when he'd been drenched in his own blood, passed out on Laurent's tent.

Laurent had not been happy, but he'd still been shockingly lucky that the tent's surface had soaked most of the blood, otherwise he would've lost a lot more tomes and scrolls than he'd already complained about. Ink smudged and pages ruined with Owain's own life.

Noire shook herself. She didn't like thinking about blood. A hard discomfort to have while at war, but discomforting thoughts had plagued her mind well before then, and made her brain wander into darker corners she wasn't capable of dealing with on her own.

_Not now. Don't think about it now._

Owain was well, Brady had asked her, personally, to help the man out of bed, so he'd be ready to leave. Noire had been so worried, she'd practically jumped at the opportunity to help.

Brady had wanted to get Owain up himself, but, well...

She hadn't heard exactly what Severa had said to him, but she knew how to put two and two together. Severa had never been pleasant to be around when she was stressed, and neither was Brady.

Best take over, while Brady recovered near the out skirts of camp.

Noire opened the flap of the medical tent and peered in.

Owain was trying to get up on his own, without help. He couldn't use his arms to support himself without straining his chest, and he couldn't bend his legs much without messing with his healing abdominal wound so the entire display was just incredibly sad and awkward to watch. 

Thank the gods that Brady wasn't here to see this… It'd be a shame to watch Owain die from an ass beating, only days after he'd been saved.

He turned his head, noticing her. She quickly averted her eyes from his gaze.

"Noire! Perfect timing," he puffed out a tired breath as he spoke "fate's hand must've guided you to my aid!" He was sweating an awful lot… She wasn't sure if it was a result of the pain he was obviously in, or from the overexertion of the whole ordeal.

"I wanted to check on you," Her voice was smaller than she would've liked, clearing her throat seemed to make little difference. "And Brady asked if I could help you get ready to leave."

Owain laid back down on his back, giving up on his attempts with a loud sigh. "Perfect, wonderful. Just, give me a moment..." he shut his eyes as he breathed.

"Are you… alright?" Noire came in closer to Owain. Hands still close to her chest. 

"Hurts." He whispered between breaths.

"I'm sorry." She didn't know what to do. She looked down at her hands in front of her, and away from Owain's pained face, yet again. "Maybe I should get someone else to help."

Owain snapped his eyes open. "No! _Gods,_ if I lay in this damned, cursed bed one more second, my sword hand will surely take purchase over my weakened mind." He lifted the hand that wasn't trapped in a sling, to his face. "I do not wish to see the aftermath of death and bloodshed I cause if it does."

"Oh dear… O-okay. Okay, let me-" She came in and sat behind him, and getting a hand under his back to helping him get into a seated position.

Owain grunted. As she helped him rise. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, keep going."

"Uhh." Now with Owain sitting up, she wasn't exactly sure how to keep going, with his chest, shoulder, and abdomen all still healing, it left precious little for her to grab onto.

Moving without thinking, she grabbed him by the ass, and pushed him upward. "Hey, woah!-" Whatever protests he had, quickly died in his throat as tried to catch his balance with his good hand, and used the leverage to twist his legs so he could rest on his knees.

He hunched over slightly, free hand wrapping around his torso.

She got up from behind him, walked over the bed roll to face him, and reached out a hand to help him up. "Sorry." her voice still came out just as small as before.

Owain took the hand and was lifted easily, now that he had more control over his legs.

Owain huffed out a tired laugh, then stopped with a wince. "You're stronger than you look."

"Sorry…" She mentally kicked herself for repeating the phrase.

Owain put his good hand on her shoulder and she tried not to flinch at the gesture. "Thank you dearly, dark one."

She smiled at that, playing with a loose thread on her outfit. "I'm glad you're okay."

She could practically feel his smile radiating onto her, much more genuine than before. He patted her shoulder gently before he turned and left the medical tent, and Noire, behind. 

Noire breathed out for the first time since she'd entered the room.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Owain povs to come. I just like keeping things different


End file.
